Being of Scotch-Irish descent, my family on both sides were wonderful storytellers. Especially on my father's side. They were raucous raconteurs, most of the time, the storyteller was in their story. Everyone in the family created stories orally, but also in visual art, music, poetry and writing. Their stories helped form who I am, they taught me to recognize and appreciate the uniqueness in everyone. They sparked emotions, created meanings and most of all, memories. I think that's why everyone loves stories. Everyone has a story to tell.
My Grandma Young told stories through her cooking. Everything she made had a story, or became part of a story. That is where I learned to associate stories with food.
Storytelling seems to be inherent in the south. It permeates every experience. When we found out we were moving to the south, I conjured up images of front porch rockers, sweet tea and stories. When we arrived in the south from the desert southwest, I felt I was home. The south is a place with soul, a place with stories. It took me a while to understand that you can never really "Be southern," if you weren't born here.
I was excited for our first potluck. I had never been to a southern BBQ before. It was a week after we moved here. I couldn't wait to make my friend, Nancy Erickkson's homemade salsa (the nectar of the gods!) and guacamole. To me, having grown up in the north, and spending a number of years in Arizona, a BBQ is a chicken part on the grill brushed with Kraft Honey Barbecue sauce. I thought chips, salsa and guacamole were perfectly acceptable. I didn't have a clue of the southern BBQ tradition, except what I had seen in Gone With the Wind when they had a BBQ at Twelve Oaks. I realized pretty quickly that, "I wasn't in Kansas anymore." I heard someone say about the guacamole, "What's that green stuff?" Someone whispered back, "I think the dips gone bad."
I found out pretty quickly that here in Franklin, no one in the grocery store knew what cilantro or tomatillos were. You couldn't find a wrap until you reached Atlanta. I didn't have the luxury of small, family-owned Asian/Hispanic/Italian/Eastern European/MidEastern markets, those wonderful places that hold so many treasures, flavors and ingredients, a cook's delight. (A lot has changed in 8 years, Nashville is quickly becoming a global melting pot on the level of the Columbian Exchange, with a fusion of ideas and choices.) But 8 years ago, I decided that "When in Rome do as the Romans do." This Southwestern Yankee girl was going to learn to cook southern. I've been working for the past 8 years trying to perfect traditional southern dishes, but something was woefully wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it. I just couldn't seem to master the cuisine because it was an acquired taste. I poured over southern Junior League cookbooks, church cookbooks, Southern Living recipes, and worked tirelessly trying to recreate recipes for foods that we've tried in traditional southern fare restaurants. It wasn't happening. I wasn't having any fun.
I finally realized that I had gotten bogged down in artificial notions of authenticity. The recipes were not my traditions. They were not my story. They were part of my story, but not the whole thing. Just like in visual art, drama, film, music, dance, poetry, etc, food has narrative powers. It's a non-verbal narrative through taste sensations. Adding ingredients from different traditions makes it familiar and can tell the story of the place, or the person. Once I realized this, the shackles were released!
Finally, I am free! I have been reveling in the narrative powers of food, telling my story in recipes. (New England/MidAtlantic/Midwest/Chicago/Southwest/American South/Scotch/Irish/German/English/French/Eastern European/China/Philippines/Spain. Using my cook's brain, I can instinctively tell if something is going to taste good or not.
From now on, I'm going to create recipes that reacquaint people with their traditions and expose them to new traditions. After all, witness the influence that Catherine de Medici's had on France when she moved from Florence to France to marry Henry the II in 1533. She brought her chef's with her. It changed the culinary world forever!
This weekend, we hosted friends from Scottsdale I was able to try out my new cuisine on them. (They lived!) I did a fusion Southwestern/Southern BBQ. This was the menu:
Brazilian cheese bread bites stuffed with pimento cheese with jalapenos, roasted red peppers and garlic
Pork shoulder brined in molasses, pickling salt, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, spices, kosher salt and injected with Dos Equis, prickly pear juice, apple juice, sugar, kosher salt and worcestershire sauce and rubbed with sugar and tons of spices, slow cooked for 9 hours.
Heirloom tomato salad with fresh peaches, goat cheese and pecans with basil, balsamic garlic vinaigrette
Coleslaw with lime, cilantro, chipolte dressing
Macaroni and cheese with green chilies, roasted red pepper, Monterey Jack cheese and bacon
4-bean southwestern baked beans
Banana pudding/cream cheese/coconut creme trifle
Carrot cupcakes with caramel drizzle, topped with dried mango, papaya, pineapple, coconut, pecans
Strawberry infused lemonade with matcha and stevia greens
Food with stories. Food from the south where days are slow and meals are made from scratch. Food that shapes our memories. That's what I want to make.
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